


do the stars gaze back

by merthurlin



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurlin/pseuds/merthurlin
Summary: A sword does not change unless it breaks, a house does not change unless it burns, and Samothes could not comprehend a change that did not bring with it destruction.And then the star fell.





	do the stars gaze back

Samothes does not remember being born.

Oh, he knows that is the fate of most men - babies are born with such fragile bodies, and they hardly have the capacity for such a complex thing as  _ memory _ , a binding to a single narrative that will shape their lives until their death. Nobody remembers being born, but Samothes was not born, he was made, so perhaps, more accurately….

Samothes does not remember being made.

He remembers his father, Samol. He remembers his tale of loneliness and pain, of being a singular kind of being among an ocean of all the same creation. He remembers the first touch of the sun upon his skin, remembers the first time he held a hammer, the first time he held a sword. The first time he held a sword upon which he has held his hammer, his very own creation, who like him, could not remember being made.

“Am I your sword, then?” he has asked Samol after presenting him with his sword, pride and a weird sense of desperation fighting in his chest.

“Ah, Samothes,” Samol sighed, taking another drag of his pipe, “You are no weapon of destruction, but rather a weapon of creation. Remember that.”

Samothes might not be able to remember being made, but he made sure to remember that, and over the years he has created much - swords and shields, but also houses and carts, playgrounds and farming equipment. He made things for the rich, but he also made things for the poor, and over time a community sprang up around him, like dandelions after the first rain of spring. They named him their king, offering respect in return for his work, and although he never asked for it, he would not lie and say it did not please him. He could take care of them, now, the way he never can for the things that come out from underneath his hands. His swords and shields and houses do not need his constant attention after he finishes making them, do not need his love and devotion.

“Am I your carer, then?” he asked Samol after telling him of the town he has built, Marielda, a city of light and dance and song.

“Ah, Samothes,” Samol sighed, strumming another note in his guitar, “You can take care of anyone but yourself. Remember that.”

And Samothes has added that to his memory, guarding it alongside the other pieces of his narrative, the beginning of which he can never quite see.

And Marielda grew, and with it, as it often happens, grew the politics - the lying and the backstabbing, every person for themselves, all of them clambering for Samothes attention, his love and devotion, and instead of giving them he find himself hoarding them, angry and hurt at the world constantly changing around him. A sword does not change unless it breaks, a house does not change unless it burns, and Samothes could not comprehend a change that did not bring with it destruction.

And then the star fell.

It was a bright streak in the sky where blackness ruled just moments before. Most of the town was asleep, but the few who weren’t described it as a great arch stretching across the sky, coming to a stop just outside the walls of town. For days it was the only thing people talked about, gossiping behind giggle and whispers. Some said it was a monster who fell down from the sky. Others claimed it was a giant flower with mysterious powers. The sceptics muttered that it was probably just a rock, of little value. 

It did not take long for people to realize that this was yet another thing they could compete at for Samothes’ attention. They vowed to go out beyond the walls of Marielda and retrieve the star for him, whatever it may be. 

“Maybe it is a new material you could use in your marvelous creations,” they would say, bowing and flattering. “A divine project for a divine man.” And how could Samothes correct them that he is not a god, when he does not know if that is the truth? Samothes, after all, could not remember being made.

And they would go out, one by one, and then in groups. And they would return, their hands empty, their faces confused. “Did we really leave?” they would ask. “I swear we were just here, we couldn’t have left the walls, we don’t remember leaving the city.”

It was Hadrian, sweet, selfish, loyal Hadrian, who first volunteered to leave the walls not to look for the star, but to see what was hurting those people.

“I am your soldier, my lord. Let me be your eyes and ears outside those walls,” he said, as he stood in front of Samothes.

(“Am I your eyes and ears, then?” 

“You are just as blind and deaf as I am, Samothes. Remember that.”)

Hadrian went, and when he come back, he was just as confused as the rest of them - but he was wearing a long and pristine white cloak. It was excellent craftsmanship, the artist in Samothes noted, made of real fur and almost invisible stitching. It did not, however, provide any answers.

Samothes was so tired of never getting straight answers.

He made it out of the city under the cover of the night, the only time he was not beseeched by this or that politician, academic, smith. He hardly had fancy clothes, but he made sure to wear the plainest of them, a simple cotton pants and a flowing shirt, hoping to blend slightly more than usual. He has not been outside of Marielda for many years, his time stolen by his projects and the people, but it was with a sense of relief that he exited the walls, and for a moment he had a brief thought about walking away, right there and then. Going somewhere else and starting anew, without the expectations and the responsibility and the petty squabbling.

But Samothes was never one to shrink his duties, even if they were self-appointed, and so he made his way north-west, to the area the star has reportedly fell.

It was not a monster, or a flower, or a rock. It was a man with starlight for hair and nebulas in his eyes, stardust like freckles across his skin. He stood there in the clearing, looking at the night sky, and for a moment Samothes thought he was not noticed, before he was spoken to.

“Another man from the city, coming to retrieve the fallen star?” His voice was deeper than expected, but it suit him, somehow. No creature from the stars should have a soft voice.

“Coming to find out what keeps befalling my people,” Samothes corrected, not stepping into the clearing.

The man finally looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. It was, Samothes couldn’t help but notice, as flawless as the rest of his face. “Like Hadrian, then?”

“He is one of my people, yes.”

He nodded. “A good man, although he does not have much in ways of social skills. The pretty blush does make up for most of it.”

Samothes  _ did  _ notice that. “He does not seem to remember you, although I do not think you a man who would not leave an impression.”

A sigh, now. “Ah, I was hoping perhaps the cloak would help, but… No, it seems my curse is stronger than that pretty bit of magic.”

“A curse?” Samothes has heard of curses, of course, in myth and fairy tales, silly stories parents would tell their children to get them to behave. He has never known one to be real, though.

(“Am I your curse, then?”

“A curse is just the tail end of a blessing. Remember that.”)

The man, now fully turned towards him, twisted his face in a smirk. Samothes didn’t know how he hasn’t realized it until then, but he was completely naked, nothing but the moonlight on his skin. He was striking, there was no doubt about that, but it was still his face that Samothes found the most fascinating, with smart eyes and a predator’s smile.

“You’re moving awfully quick, don’t you think? Asking me such private questions when I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Samothes,” he replied, having never gone by another name but that which his father gave him, in a moment he does not remember.

“Truly? The same Samothes spoken of in reverence by those who came to find me? Samothes the creator, Samothes the ruler, Samothes the god?”

Despite himself, Samothes made a face at that last one, and the man quickly caught on. “Ah, not a god then. But a creator and a ruler?”

“It seems to me that now you are the one asking the private questions without first introducing yourself.”

The man released a chuckle, a breathy sound that rolled upon the wind. “I would give you one if I had it. I suppose humans might have given me names, over the years, but if they had, I do not know them.”

“You really are a star, then?”

“In the flesh,” the star replied, a cruel twist to his mouth. “As I was never before.”

“Then why are you now? You’ve mentioned a curse.”

“So full of questions. Tell me, what is it that you create, Samothes the creator?” a teasing quality to his tone, but genuine interest.

Samothes shrugged. “Whatever needs to be created - equipment for the farmers, pottery for the cooks, houses for the homeless.”

“No swords, weapons?”

“Those too, if they are needed.”

The star crossed his arms. “And you do not prefer those?”

“I suppose they take more consideration to create, a greater attention to details. The exact weight, an equal distribution - are you laughing at me?”

And he was, a full-bodied thing, struggling to contain his guffaws. His laugh, unlike the rest of him, was unelegent - a wild sound, from a person who never had to learn how to control it.

Now it was Samothes who crossed his arms. “I fail to see the joke.”

“Ah, no joke my good sir - I apologize. It is just - when asked if you prefer weapons over cookery, instead of talking about glory or bloodlust, you focus on details and complexity. You are a very strange man.”

“I have no need of glory or bloodlust. As long as I’m proud of my work, I am content,” Samothes replied, honest. He never had need of lies.

“And being content is enough for you, then? No need of happiness for the creator, the ruler, the god?” At Samothes’ look he hurried to add, “No, not god, I forgot. Just a man who converses with a star.”

Samothes squinted at him. “The people who came here before - they all talked to you.”

The star laughed again. “No, they did not. Not like this, that is.”

And in the space of a blink he was gone, replaced with the biggest wolf Samothes has ever seen - not that he has seen many wolves, living as he did in the city, but he was sure there was no beast of nature that was as big as this one. He could not stop himself even if he wanted to, as he took one step into the clearing, and then another, his body wanting to confirm what his eyes saw.

The wolf’s eyes tracked his movement, and with a start Samothes realized they were the same bursting nebulas for eyes, and in the wolf’s snarl he could recognize the predatory shade of the star’s smile. 

“Is that your curse, then?” he asked, stopping just a few steps in front of the wolf, unwilling to come closer without permission, but extending his hand in invitation. After a few moments the wolf stepped forward, head coming to rest under Samothes’ hand, nose butting at his fingers. With a soft laugh Samothes obliged, carding his fingers though the short fur.

“The cloak you gave to Hadrian, was that your own fur? I recognize this texture.”

The head bobbed in confirmation before once again affixing itself to Samothes’ hand.

“Oh, Throndir is going to love you,” Samothes muttered to himself, thinking of Marielda’s young animal keeper, shepherd of sheeps and whisperer of dogs. Samothes has not yet seen an animal who has not fallen for Throndir’s charm, and while this wolf was not quite an ordinary animal, he had no doubt it would be the same for him.

After a few seconds of quiet the wolf stepped back, and with another blink the humanoid form of the star was standing it in its place, looking at Samothes with a gaze that was not quite as guarded as before.

“My curse, as you’ve said. You are the first person I was able to talk to in my human form - or talk to at all, since wolves are not exactly known for their flexible vocal chords.”

Samothes smiled at him. “The honor is mine, then, star without a name.”

The star seemed to be caught off guard at that, his skin slightly flushing. He coughed. “Yes, well, it has been terribly inconvenient.”

“I can imagine,” Samothes nodded, trying not to laugh. “You do seem awfully upset.”

The star glared at him, but he was betrayed by his twitching lips trying to guard a smile. “I don’t see you handling solitude in the woods very well, Mr. ruler.”

Samothes shrugged. “If I had my workshop and my tools, I would be content anywhere.”

“Ah, again with being content. And what of pleasure, Samothes? What of revelry and gratification?”

“I revel in my work and I’m gratified by my people’s devotion.”

“And does nothing give you pleasure, then?” the star’s lips twisted once again into a smirk, his eyes, his eyes made of nebulas, boring into Samothes.

“Pleasure is not… required.”

“Required? No. Necessary? I would say so.” Just like his wolf form, the star walked towards Samothes, only this time his head came up to his chin, and not merely his navel. 

“There is something about you, Samothes… Something familiar…” the star’s eyes scanned his face. This close Samothes could see the nebulas in his eyes shifting and changing, their colors going from green to blue to grey to green again.

The star’s first touch on his skin - light, on his neck just below his ear - was like a shock to his system, and he could see the star’s eyes widen.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he asked in wonder, his hand still cradling Samothes’ face, his breath foggy in the cold night air between them.

“Know what?” Samothes asked, only half-listening, hyper-focused on his touch.

“That you are a star - no, not a star. You are a  _ sun _ .”

With great difficulty Samothes forced himself to focus on the star’s words, but their meaning was still beyond him. “The sun is in the sky - it rises every morning and goes down every night, and I do believe I would remember making that journey.”

The star had the audacity to scoff at him, as if  _ he  _ was the one who wasn’t making any sense. “Not that sun, a different sun. Probably of another planetary system, one that surely has died since without its sun to warm it and center it in its place. You really didn’t know?”

Samothes took a step back, and the star’s arm fell back to his side, limp. It didn’t help, though - Samothes could still feel his imprint upon his neck, a warm spot in contrast to the rest of his cold body. “What are you saying - I would know if I was a sun.”

“Would you?” the star countered. “Or would you simply insist you are not a god, without knowing what you truly are?”

That one hit its mark, and Samothes took another step back. “I don’t remember being made.”

“Made? Not born?” Of course he noticed that - it seemed there was very little the star didn’t notice.

“I was not born. I did not have a childhood, I did not grow up. I wasn’t there, and suddenly, I was. Samol never explained it to me.” He didn’t know why he was explaining all of this to a virtual stranger, a weird man in the woods who was also a wolf and a star, but there was something compelling about him, in his naked honesty in a naked body, in the way he wasn’t afraid to shift from mockery to affection to curiosity. Perhaps he spent too long being surrounded by people who were hyper aware of their every move around him, but this moment felt freeing, like there was little he could say to this star that he wouldn’t take in a stride.

“Samol?”

“My… father, I suppose? He was the one who gave me my name, gave me my tools. Told me to create and not destroy.”

“Sounds like a smart man.” The star was studying him, again, before gesturing. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Samothes just stared at him. “What?”

“We should go visit this Samol, yes? He might have known you were a sun, maybe he would know about my curse as well.”

“I still do not believe you that I am a sun, whatever that may mean,” Samothes informed him, “And you haven’t yet explained your curse.”

“Hmm, I haven’t, have I?” he smiled at Samothes, who could recognize it as the first smile he saw on the star’s features - not a laugh, or a smirk, but a gentle quirk of the lips, a promise for more. “I suppose that means you are going to have to stick around.”

Samothes looked at him - the star who was not a monster, or a flower, or a rock, but somehow was all three things and more, the man who walked around naked but as if he was dressed like a king, who made claims as if they were facts and treated facts as if they were claims, and he found himself wanting not to follow him, or lead him, but rather walk beside him, wherever that may lead.

He thought of Samol, whom he have not seen in decades. He thought of Marielda, a town that was still steadily growing, but more of a fungus now than a flower. He thought of Hadrian and his loyalty and Throndir and his dogs, remembered the name of every citizen of his town, and knew he  _ would  _ be back for them - but not before he saw where this road led him.

Invention, after all, was nothing without inspiration.

(“Am I your son, then?” Samothes asked, much much later, after he and the star who was now named Samot have crossed mountains and oceans to arrive at Samol’s doorstep.

“Ah, Samothes,” Samol sighed as he pet Samot’s wolf form, “You are my sun. Remember that.”)

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @merthurlin


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